touch – Page 23

Meet Switch, Part Ten

By the time we finished, the sun was rising. Switch removed his belt from my wrists, pulled me back against him and we fell asleep curled up with each other. There was something sort of sweet about the way he held me.

We slept only about three hours, we both had things to do or places to be in the morning. We wound up lingering in bed another hour before having to rush off.

I got a text later that day from him expressing that he’d like to see me again and asking what I was doing Friday night. It took some restraint to not just be cheesy and reply “you?”.

But, uh, yeah.

Meet Switch, Part Nine

Somewhere in the middle of me sucking him off, Switch seized control back. It happened sort of organically. The hand on my hair started grabbing, he started holding my head still so he could fuck my face. I didn’t fight him on it. It’s what I normally gravitate to, after all.

He completely took charge after that, manipulating me to get him off the way he wanted. When he was cumming, he informed me. He didn’t ask to. I sort of liked that fact a lot.

I kind of realize that both of our dominant streaks come out of our submissive streaks. He knows it pleases me to be dominated and so he does it for the purpose of satisfying me. I enjoy being overtaken and so I dominate him for the satisfaction of having him seize control back. It’s an interesting give and take.

And now that he had control again, I didn’t fight when after I swallowed he pushed me down to the bed and grabbed his belt from the mess of sheets to tie my wrists behind my back.

“Admit that I’m your favorite,” I told the Southern Gentleman last night, teasingly.

He smirked, “shut up and give me your cunt."

I sat back and moved my panties aside, starting to rub my clit. "Nah, I think I’m just going to take care of myself.”

“You,” he said, “and your tight little cunt and your hot little mouth are my favorite.”

“Oh, now you’re just saying that,” I pouted.

“Ivy.”

“I don’t know, the last time I wanted you I didn’t get what I wanted,” I slid a finger in slowly and dipped my head back, “so I think I may just spend some alone time with your favorite little cunt. You can watch.”

“Darling, if I fucked you every time one of us was aroused, we’d never get anything done,” he replied, “and that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Hey guys,

So, I had my queue kind of take over for the past few days, but it has run out. I am in the middle of finals, so please bear with me for the next few days. I’ve got plenty to tell you, but very little time.

<3, Ivy

I just got a wax today and now I can’t stop running my fingers over it. So smooth.

Photograph submitted by jeunefille18.

Sometimes, you just want her all at once. You realize that you’re not capable of such a thing. You bring her close but you can never quite bring her close enough. You press yourself into her with such force that you suppose that perhaps you’ll finally just fall into her.

The top layer of our cells are sloughed off. It’s a little disgusting to think about, but there’s something romantic about the idea that we leave a little bit of ourselves everywhere we go and on everything we touch. And so you can figure that part of her is on you, part of you is on her.

And you figure maybe that’s a huge part of intimacy: not being sure what’s you and what’s her anymore.

After my mother left, I went out with a bunch of friends and just danced for hours. It was probably one of the best nights out I’ve had all year, we all just let loose.

At some point, I caught up with that guy in my frat. I know, followers, I know, I swore myself off him earlier this week. But, according to one of my friends, he talks about me nonstop when I’m not around. I don’t think I can honestly fault him for going out and having some random hookup when we aren’t even together.

Anyway, right away he asked, “why didn’t you introduce me to your mother?”

I laughed and shook my head. “You could’ve come over and introduced yourself like everyone else.”

“You should’ve introduced me,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to be rude and come over.”

“How noble,” I replied.

He shrugged, “I thought she’d want to meet the guy who is taking you to the formal.”

“Oh, so now you’re taking me to the formal?” I raised a brow.

“If you’ll let me.”

One of my friends was waving me back over to the dance floor. I smiled and started to walk over, but not before saying, “only if you’re a gentleman.”

A poem I like:

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

Frank O’Hara’s right as rain. It’s not what you do so much as who you do it with.

“The stage is set
Someone’s going to do something someone else will regret
I speak in smoke signals and you answer in code
The fuse will have to run out sometime
Something here will eventually have to explode
Have to explode.”

“Find me now. Before someone else does.” – Haruki Murakami, IQ84.